


sang so loud, sang so clear

by florenceandthemachine



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Bisexual Disaster Eddie Diaz, Bisexual Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, Confessions, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florenceandthemachine/pseuds/florenceandthemachine
Summary: If there was one thing that Eddie Diaz knew, it was that life was not fair.His two tours weren’t fair. His son’s CP wasn’t fair. His marriage with Sharon hadn’t been fair.But pulling up to the 118, stepping out of his truck, and coming face to face with Buck? Buck, who was clad only in his turnout pants and suspenders, who was dripping wet?Well, that wasn’t just unfair, that wasmean.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 471





	sang so loud, sang so clear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elisela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/gifts).



> unedited, unbetad, happy Sunday everyone! last week was garbage, hope this week is better.   
> xoxo, flo

It was safe to say that there was no part of his job that Eddie didn’t like. He loved being part of the community. He loved being able to make a positive change in the worst moments of someone’s life. Hell, he loved helping people in general, and that stretched far beyond the ‘call of duty’; so it was no surprise that when Bobby announced a series of fundraisers that the LAFD were participating in, Eddie was probably the only person who didn’t groan in defeat when Station 6 got to host a carnival while the 118 got stuck with a car wash.

He was excited because it was for charity. Not because it meant he got to have an entire weekend free from fire, free to spend some more time with his kid. That wasn’t it at all.

It also wasn’t because he got to spend some more time with Buck, outside of an assortment of burning buildings. That _definitely_ wasn’t it—because despite what Carla said (and what Abuela said, and what Pepa said, and the looks that Hen shot him) he was an adult who had control over himself and had his...emotions regarding Buck under control. 

It wasn’t a crush. He was fine. The fact that he had to go through the Starbucks line again after he got Buck’s order to get his own coffee was purely coincidental.

“Dad, can we play my music?”

“Sure, buddy.”

Eddie idly switched through the radio controls on his truck as he pulled onto the highway, smiling at his son in the rear view mirror as Chris pulled out his phone, working with the accessibility controls easily. The device was still pretty new, and Chris was still getting the hang of it, but after the tsunami Eddie would have bought him one phone for each hand if it meant he would know his son was safe at all times. Paranoia aside, Chris had been elated at cataloguing his life whenever he could—they already had digital albums full of Chris and his school friends, his family, and the things he got to do with Carla while Eddie was stuck at work. 

Normally on days like today, Carla would have swung by and picked Chris up from the house, but it was easy enough to push that back an hour or so and have her pick Chris up right from the firehouse when he had all but begged to come in to the 118 and say hi to the team.

And hell, if Eddie got his kid to kick up the cuteness near their tip jar? Eddie wouldn’t complain about that, either. 

One of Chris’ favorite albums had wrapped to a close when Eddie pulled off the highway, turning down the volume as they started to approach the 118. The morning was still pretty young, but it looked like they already had a pretty good turnout lined up—there were cars wrapped around the station building, in various stages of drying, with a line pretty steadily moving through the main engine bay. It looked like Bobby had moved the trucks out toward the street for added publicity, meaning the entire floor of the station was filled with cars, suds, and pop-ish music (no doubt, courtesy of Chim). 

“Eddie, don’t tell me you actually expect us to wash your truck.” Chim snarked from the stairs, his LAFD tee shirt covered in colorful suds and sticking to his skin, and Eddie only smirked as he shoved a twenty into the donation jar. “Come on now, I’m a paying customer! Are you telling me that you’re gonna turn away someone for a charity drive?”

“No, he isn’t. Eddie, here, gimme the keys.” Eddie beamed as he heard Buck’s voice behind him, sticking his tongue out at Chim in a very mature, grown up way as he helped Chris out of the truck. Reaching back into the drivers seat, he pulled the second coffee out of the holder, the iced drink matching his own save for Buck’s added pumps of sugar—and almost keeled over when he turned around. 

Look, if there was one thing that Eddie Diaz knew, it was that life was not fair. 

His two tours weren’t fair. His son’s CP wasn’t fair. His marriage with Sharon hadn’t been fair. 

But pulling up to the 118, stepping out of his truck, and coming face to face with Buck? Buck, who was clad only in his turnout pants and suspenders, who was _dripping wet_?

Well, that wasn’t just unfair, that was _mean_. 

“See, Chim, this is why the Diaz’s are my favorite. You gotta step up, man, Eddie brought me my favorite coffee and my favorite Chris.”

Buck was thankfully oblivious as Eddie short circuited, bending down to high five Chris, his face brightening when he saw the second coffee in Eddie’s hands. He pulled the coffee and the keys out of Eddie’s shockingly limp grip, turning to Chim triumphantly as Eddie tried to gather his thoughts. His thoughts, which currently needed gathering, because they were tracing the path a drop of water made as it glided along Buck’s shoulder blades, trailed along to the edge of his torso, resting on a hip that Eddie would very much like to _bite_ , thank you, and—

“Buck, I’ll be giving you an actual niece or nephew! That has to rank better than coffee!”

“Well, first of all, _Maddie_ will be giving me an actual niece or nephew. Second of all…”

Eddie pulled himself back to realist as Buck and Chim started to bicker, eyes suddenly desperate to look anywhere else before he got distracted again. “Hey, uh, I’m going to set Chris up upstairs, we’ll be down in a second.” 

He wasn’t sure if he was more thankful for the easy out or for the distance that he got to put between himself and a half naked Buck, but Eddie was nothing if he wasn’t an idiot—so even as he helped Chris set up some papers around the table at the loft, he still found himself peeking over the railing whenever Buck laughed, or shouted, or did anything that could draw Eddie’s attention away from the here and now as he sipped his coffee. 

One of his little dalliances must have taken a little longer than before, because he honestly couldn’t telly ou how much time had passed before he heard Chris speak up. 

“Dad’s got a crush on Buck, Dad’s got a crush on Buck...”

Eddie felt his head snap up, his face instantly bright red as he almost choked on his iced coffee. He gasped as he saw Chris hiding behind his cell phone, immediately breaking out into giggles as he pointed his camera back and forth from Eddie to where Buck stood in the engine bay. He was quiet enough, thank fuck, so Eddie didn’t have to do any immediate damage control—just had to save face, doing so with an exaggerated flourish as he easily closed the space between he and Chris, picking his son up playfully with one arm as the other snagged his phone from his hand. 

“The lies! The deceit! Betrayed by my own son!”

“Daddy, nooo!”

Eddie found himself laughing as he flopped down on to one of the overstuffed couches in the loft, grinning like a fool as Chris wriggled beside him, his phone still secure in Eddie’s hand, out of Chris’ reach.

_“Dad’s got a crush on Buck, Dad’s got a crush on Buck...”_

Eddie blinked, looking up as he heard Chris’ words repeated, eyes looking at the loop now playing on his phone. It was a Snapchat—one of the few social apps Eddie allowed on Chris’ phone, after Chris had more or less taught him how to use it (and had promised to send Eddie a few selfies throughout the day).

Chris had done the courtesy of zooming on Buck, bending over to scrub at the rims on Eddie’s truck, and then the camera swung back to Eddie, who... missed his own mouth with his straw, several times, trying to sip from his coffee.

Alright, maybe his crush wasn’t as under control as he thought it was.

_“Dad’s got a crush on Buck, Dad’s got a crush on Buck...”_

Eddie frowned as his ears twinged, suddenly aware that the sound wasn’t coming from Chris’ phone, the looping audio echoing up to the loft. He put his head next to the phone, trying to tell—were the speakers broken? Was something jammed in a port or whatever?

He turned the volume up, frowning, a little disappointed. He had told Chris how important it was to take care of this things, and if his phone had already been dropped or broken, he would have to—

_“DAD’S GOT A CRUSH ON BUCK, DAD’S GOT A CRUSH ON BUCK...”_

—he would have to crawl into a hole and die, because that sound wasn’t coming from Chris’ phone, it was coming from Eddie’s truck. Eddie’s truck, which was powered on, and still connected to Chris’ phone from their music this morning. 

Eddie’s truck, which thanks to his own idiocy had every speaker blasting, and had a bright red Buck bent over the hood—frozen, like Eddie seemed to be, his face unreadable as he stared up at Eddie in the loft up above the bay. Eddie felt his body go numb as Chris finally stole his phone back, the sound thankfully stopping as he locked his phone.

“Oh fuck.”

“Ooh, you owe a dollar to Carla’s swear jar.”

-

“There’s my number one guy! Chris, how’re you doing?”

Eddie managed to successfully avoid everyone for the better part of an hour—it was easy enough to do, considering they still had a line out the door of people waiting to get their cars scrubbed down by the 118. He felt a small moment of dread spike through his heart as Carla managed to seek them out—he would have a zero chance of hiding if he didn’t have his ‘son-shield’ up. 

Eddie managed a small smile as Carla ruffled Chris’ hair, clearing his throat. “Hey, Carla, you brought your van today right?” 

“Sure did, what’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. I just need to lie down behind your rear wheels so you can put me out of your misery before you leave.”

“... uh huh.” Carla rose her brow as Chris shoved his papers and markers into his backpack, looking at Eddie in a way that was almost pitying. “Daddy accidentally megaphoned his crush on Buck to the entire station, so he’s been hiding upstairs and helping me draw instead of helping with charities.”

Well, that was one way to put it, though Eddie would have preferred a way that made him feel less of a dick. He winced as he nodded his head, clearing his throat as Carla’s eyes widened. “And that’s why Daddy has to go throw himself into traffic.”

“Well, I would prefer it if you didn’t.”

Eddie felt his entire body tense as he heard Buck behind him, only managing a weak wave as Carla whisked Chris off down the stairs—his protests of “but Carla, I wanna listen!” making Eddie go even redder.

At the very least, he wasn’t alone in that boat. Buck was an absolutely delightful shade of pink, and Eddie was fucking distraught to learn that Buck’s blush went all the way down to his chest, because for some reason the other man still hadn’t put on a shirt. Normally, Eddie would have been delighted to see that, but after having his feelings so publicly (even if intentionally) put on blast, all that he wanted was to be swallowed up by the floor. 

“Don’t worry, I’d make sure Chim had to scrape me off the pavement, you wouldn’t have to worry about it.” Eddie said, his humor landing a little dark—Buck didn’t laugh, but his smile did grow, and Eddie counted that as a win as he sighed. “Look, Buck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make things weird and I don’t want to—“

“Oh, Eddie, I’m not here to talk about that, I just wanted to get your help scrubbing on the floor.”

Oh. The car wash, right. Eddie felt his stomach drop as he swallowed, processing what Buck had said, nodding his head. Buck wanted to look past it, pretend it hadn’t happened. That was... fine. Eddie hitched a smile onto his face, nodding his head as he looked down the floor, finding the tie of his own boots fascinating. “Yeah, no, you’re right. Sorry I was putting it off, I’ll grab some towels and I can—“

“Actually, you should start washing up with me. I was thinking we could make a bet out of it.”

Eddie looked back up, curiosity outweighing all the weight in his stomach as he tilted his head, trying to get a read on Buck—even if all he could see was that delicious blush, trailing down Buck’s neck and fucking Christ, across his chest. “A bet? Buck, I don’t know if—”

“Whoever gets the most tips has to pay for dinner... tonight? After we’ve dried off?”

Eddie felt his jaw click shut as Buck cut him off again, his brain trying to work a mile a minute as he caught up with what Buck had said. 

Because if he didn’t know any better, if sounded like Buck was asking him out on a date. 

“Buck, you... you? Me, when... you really... when I...”

“Eddie, will you please just say yes? I was going to ask you an hour ago, but you’ve been hiding very unsuccessfully from me.”

Buck was asking him out to dinner. Buck was asking, him, Eddie Diaz, out to dinner, after Eddie all but humiliated himself. Buck had been waiting since that moment to ask Eddie out to dinner. Oh this, this he could certainly work with.

“So… dinner, huh? You’re on. But if you’re going to be working in just your turnouts, so am I.”

Yeah, he could work with that. And two could play at this game.

(If Carla was laughing when Eddie explained their little bet over the phone later, she was all but howling when Eddie admitted he won, asking if she could watch Chris for a few more hours and for recommendations as to where he could take Buck on their first date—even as Chris shouted “good luck, dad!” over the phone.)

**Author's Note:**

> [come scream at me on tumblr.](https://florenceandthemachine.tumblr.com)


End file.
